He's Really A Phantom
by Erik's Angel Forever
Summary: After the Christine left with Raoul, Erik stayed in his lair. The mob turns him over to the police, imprisoning him for a year, finally killing him the same way he killed hundreds of people. Now the Phantom is a phantom. What will Andre and Firmin do now that the Opera is rebuilt, they know the Phantom is dead, and one day they receive a strange letter signed O.G?
1. Chapter 1

*****UPDATE AS OF JUNE 20TH*** **

**I have NO idea what happened to the summary. This is what it is supposed to say because I already know some people are going to be reviewing/PMing me about the summary:**

"After the Christine left with Raoul, Erik stayed in his lair. The mob turns him over to the police, imprisoning him for a year, finally killing him the same way he killed hundreds of people. Now the Phantom is a phantom. What will Andre and Firmin do now that the Opera is rebuilt, they know the Phantom is dead, and one day they receive a strange letter signed O.G?"

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**Well, I have some fresh stories brewed up in my e-mail and decided to share one with you. Hey, if you guys like it, maybe I'll keep writing. Oh, and I promise I'll give you another chapter of You're Not Alone. I won't abandon it. **

**I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, or any characters besides my own.**

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I watched with silent tears as Christine left with that fop. She sang ever so sweetly, glancing back at me just once. She grasped his shoulders, then finally looked ahead.

"It's over..." I whispered. "It really is over... No more singing, no more music..." I sniffled. "_No more Christine..."_

I trudged back to my Opera Populaire diorama and plucked Christine from the stage. I brought her up to my lips and kissed her wooden hair softly. As I hung my head down, the tears became more frequent. Suddenly, anger shouts traveled through the dark tunnels.

"_Track down this murderer and he must be found! Track down this murderer and he must be found!"_They shouted.

I shook my head and glared at my mask on a small table. I clutched the Christine doll and trudged over to my organ. Silently, I sat down on the bench and rested my head on the keys, the loud noise echoing off the walls. The shouts grew louder and louder by the second. I looked down at the Christine doll in my lap, a large tear falling straight onto her heart. The world around me became silent and numb. All I thought about was our memories. The first time I ever saw her; her first ballet; the last lesson we ever had... Which was a year ago.

I snapped back to reality as a large hand clapped down on my shoulder. Before I knew it, I was pinned to the ground, but I didn't protest. What was life worth living without Christine?

"So you're the _phantom_, eh?" The stocky police man sneered at me. I did nothing.

"I asked you a question, beast! No wonder you hide down here in the cellars! You could scare half of the world away with that face!" He taunted.

I remained silent. No more fighting back. I let the torture come upon me. I waited for them to take my life from me, to save me from this horrible misery. The Christine doll fell out of my hands and rolled towards another angry mob member. He picked it up and tossed it carelessly into the water. I inhaled sharply, emotions stirring inside of me.

As another police man cracked a joke, I heard a familiar laugh. Darting my eyes to the left, I saw Meg. She was laughing hysterically. Meg... Madame Giry's daughter. She knew me and never told a soul about me. I never understood why she laughed. Suddenly, her eyes met mine. I just stared. No emotion at all. She stared back, a devilish smirk on her face. I will never forget that look.  
I was suddenly turned onto my stomach. My hands were pulled together behind me and tied with a thick rope. Then I was yanked to my feet. The policeman shoved me towards the water and began dragging me along as he exited my lair. Other ropes were thrown around me and tightened.

"Just like a beast!" Meg exclaimed.

I sighed and coughed.

"Shut up, you animal!" A mob member snarled at me. He swung his fist at my face and left a dark purple bruise on my cheek. I hung my head down and followed the policeman. It took them hours to find their way back up. As many times as I wanted to give directions, I stayed silent. When we finally reached ground level, swarms of policemen surrounded us. Some others too.

"Where is he? The Phantom of the Opera is indeed a man! In flesh and blood, he is! I hear he has a face like hell!" They all shouted. I was dragged once again to the carriage. Thrown in a cage and locked. Just like when I was caged as The Devil's Child. I scurried into the shadows like a rat seeing the light for the first time. Oh how I craved darkness. And Christine. I slumped down, pretending she was with me here and now, holding my hand and assuring me it was going to be alright. But it wasn't. I did not know how long we traveled. The sound of the clopping horses echoed in my ears. In the cab, I could hear some vulgar conversations.

"What do they plan to do, Monsieur?" One man asked curiously.

"Well, the chief says they're keeping him locked up for a year, tortures everyday. Then they will hang him for his crimes in public. For all to see. For all to see that this ugly beast who has ruined many lives is dead." The other answered. No more words were spoken for the rest of the journey.

_Yes... Just what I need. Torture. Christine tortured me by loving that fop..._ I thought. Finally, the horses stopped moving. Then breathed heavily after the long trip, eager to rest. I heard the two men jump from the cab and walk to the back of the carriage. Slowly, they unlocked it and snatched my ropes up and jerked me out. I landed on the ground and stayed there. Not even bothering to get back up.

"Get up, now, you monster. Or I'll let the mongrels out on you!" One sneered.

"Let them..." I whispered. I meant it. I needed to be rid of this horrible life. Those two words earned me a few hard kicks to the stomach,face, and groin. I grunted in pain, yet I welcomed it. They heaved me to my feet and brought me inside. I was locked in a cell in the middle of the rest of the jailbirds. They taunted and teased. Called names and laughed. I shivered and looked at my surroundings. The only thing in my cell was a shattered piece of glass. I leaned over and picked it up. I looked at my reflection, frowning in disgust. I began carving Christine's name into my arm, drawing a rose underneath it. The blood spilled over my arm and dribbled onto my trousers. On my other arm, I carved her beautiful face. Every detail, every blemish. When It was finished, I wiped my arms on my white shirt and looked at my work. How beautiful pain is, I couldn't put into words. _Christine_. The name was so perfect. It slid smoothly across my tongue. The simple sound of her name sent chills up my spine.

"But now she is gone..." I whispered. I traced the details of her face over and over.

A policeman marched up to my cell and cleared his throat.

"Monsieur Phantom, you are locked up for obvious reasons. You will be hung for your crimes in exactly one year. You will receive a small piece of bread every week, and you will be tortured for every man you have killed. That makes a carriage load, so be prepared Monsieur Phantom!" He said with excitement in his deep voice as he turned heel and marched off.

That whole following year was the last days of my life. I ate little. I grew weak and skinny. I lost all of my hair. My limbs turned blue from the cold. I would get visitors everyday. They came to laugh, torture, throw things, spit, and break me down. I was whipped everyday in public for 5 hours straight. Even children got to whip me. Everyday I hoped one of my visitors would be Christine. Just to see her beautiful face one last time would make death pleasurable. I often thought about her during my last weeks. Those cuts I made turned into scars, which I welcomed. Once in awhile, a women who resembled Christine would come to see me. It was never her. Other times when I wasn't in my cell, left to rot, I worked. Hard work. In the burning sun, and freezing snow. I would be punished severely if I made a small mistake. My bones grew weak and I could barley walk a month before my execution. One day I passed out. I was assumed dead for a day, before I woke up. I was back in the cell.

Then the day came.

I trembled at the cold, as the policemen marched up to my cell.

"Monsieur Phantom, you're time has come." He said firmly. I nodded weakly as the door opened and two policeman came in to help me to the carriage, for I couldn't walk anymore. I was dumped in the back and away we went. For hours, we back the journey back to Paris. When we arrived, my death scene would be the one and only, **Palais Garnier. **I was kept locked in the carriage until they got set up. Which for some reason took hours.

"Change of plan, Monsieur. You will die a different way tonight." The policeman said lifting my 67 pound body from the carriage. I looked up to see a velvet red chair with gold lining. It was just like the seats in the Opera. In front of the chair was a small stage with a grand red curtain. Also like the Opera's. Suddenly, I realized how my death was going to go as I saw Christine in all to familiar costume. Hanging above my death chair was a replica of the grand chandelier. It was large, yes. And had beautiful crystals hanging from it. I was escorted to the chair, sat down in it, and tied to it with my own punjab lassoes. A silk curtain was tossed over me, with small eyeholes cut into it so I could see the preformance. In about an hour, French men and women began crowding around. The stage and my chair were blocked off by 3 foot gates. Spectators could watch the whole thing.

The curtain swung up, and Don Juan Triumphant began playing. All of the singers who had been killed in my disaster were replaced. Those who survived played their parts. Christine played the lead role, Aminta. I watched painfully as her beautiful voice echoed through my ears. She glanced at me several times, with no compassion at all. The whole Opera was played as it was a year ago. This time, that fop played me, sneaking on stage singing my role. Finally, the great finale came.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here, beside you." The Vicomte said passionately.

"Anywhere you go, let me go too! Christine, that's all I ask of..." The fop trailed off. Christine suddenly pulled a rope, sending the silk curtain high above my head.

"Presenting: The Phantom of the Opera!" The policeman who took me to this chair shouted for all to hear. Screams and cries of disgust rang out through Paris. My eyes stayed locked on Christine for a minute. I drank in every single thing about her. Her perfect lips, her beautiful hair and face. Her beautiful body. I savoured every second until I saw the Vicomte slash a rope. The chandelier's crystals began smashing against each other as it fell. I gathered up every ounce of my remaining strength and shouted out.

"My name is Erik Destler.. And I love you, Christine Da..." My words were cut off by the chandelier crushing me. Some gasped. Some cried out in joy, and others like Christine, remained silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh how sad. I got ONE review on the first chapter! Thank you Supernatural-Girl17! Well, thank you if your put this story on your Alerts/favorited it or me. Here goes the second chapter! Just to let you know, Christine doesn't know Erik's name yet. Just to let you know (again) I do not know what it's like to be a ghost after you die, because I am not dead obviously, so please don't blame me if I sound literally confusing to you. I've never had any expirences with ghosts/spirits so cut me some slack people! Oh and I'm making these chapters pretty short unless it gets a lot of reviews. Any text in italics, are of course, Erik's thoughts.**

**Oh yeah, and for this Erik, I'm picturing Gerard Butler with Leroux's eyes, and Michael Crawford's hat. And ehh, a mix between Butler and Crawford's deformity. And for Christine, I'm picturing either Sierra Boggess or Emmy Rossum.**

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**_Erik's_ POV**

I felt pain, but only for one brief second. In that last second, I tried to look past the millions of broken crystals to see my precious Christine, but I could see nothing but blood. I died with my eyes closed.

It felt like years later when they finally opened again. I was still in my death chair, and I could see the chandelier all over me. But when I looked down at my body, I saw no blood, no scratches or rips in my clothing. Panicking, I stood up.

"That bloody Phantom! I wish I could have been the Joe who killed him!" A frenchman shouted in anger.

The sky above me was as blue as it was when I was escorted to death. I was so confused, and there were no answers.

"But, I'm dead..?" I whispered to myself.

As I took a step forward, I never felt so alive, so strong and perfect. I completely forgot about my face during that first step. I took more steps and accidentally kicked a stray beer bottle. It flew across the concrete towards the crowd. A small child's eyes bugged as the bottle landed near his foot. He whispered in alarm to his friend beside him and his whispered to the person beside him. Soon everyone was talking about the strange bottle which had been kicked by... _air._ I gasped as I remembered I was in an open crowd. A policeman began walking towards me. I sank to my knees, pleading for Christine. He walked right past me, brushing my coat slightly. He turned around and looked down suspiciously. I cowered. He grunted and walked on. _Why didn't he see me? I was in plain sight._ I thought to myself.

"Christine..." I whispered to myself. I glanced around for her. My yellow blood-shot eyes became wide when I spotted her. She was being helped down from the stage by that fool, the Vicomte. I didn't dare call him Raoul. She was smiling. I walked towards the stage and ducked behind a fire prop. A crowd of actors began rushing past me to the other end of the stage. I felt light headed as I backed into the shadows. More people than I prefered, glanced in my direction. Yet they took no notice of my presence. When they were gone, I crept forward and looked at Christine. She was laughing. _She looks happy..._ I thought.

"Christine, Christine..." I called to her hopefully.

She ceased her laughter and talking and looked around with a confused expression on her face. I didn't know what to say or do. The Vicomte embraced her and called for his carriage. I felt hot anger built up inside of me when he touched her. He helped her into the cab and climbed in, slamming the door behind him. The carriage set off. I ran out from behind the prop, not caring if any other people saw me. I ran as fast as I could, which was surprisingly fast. When the carriage finally stopped, I looked up to the the large de Chagny manor. Upon Christine getting out, I noticed the wedding band on her finger.

**_Christine's POV_**

I sat down on the edge of my bed. My husband was in the other room taking care of business. I often thought of my Angel. He was not an angel... He was a man in flesh and blood. And he threatened to kill my precious Raoul.

_"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate..._

_Grow cold, and turn to tears of hate!"_

I sang softly. I hardly believed I kissed him. I did it for Raoul. I faked those tears. I remember the cold glare I gave him on the way out of that dark dungeon. Why me? I often asked myself. Why me out of all of the little ballet girls at the opera. There was nothing special about me when I was seven. I was just a little orphaned ballet rat, lucky to even be in the Palais Garnier. Suddenly, my husband walked in silently. I was startled by his sudden presence. He walked over to our bed and sat down beside me, pulling me into his lap and massaging my shoulders in a comforting way. I sighed contently.

"What's on your mind, dear?" Raoul asked softly. I turned around and embraced him as if I hadn't seen him in years. He returned it and kissed my gently.

"Nothing really..." I lied.

"Christine, I know when you're lying." He said firmly.

I sighed and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow and kissed me passionately again. I inhaled sharply and leaned against his chest, breathing in his sweet masculine smells.

"_Him_..." I trailed off.

Raoul knew exactly who I was talking about. The wound on his left arm from the Phantom's slash was still healing. It was deep and required to be washed and bandaged everyday.

"What about, _him_?" He asked lowly, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. He rested his chin on my head.

"Not good things, I am certain." I replied. I bit my bottom lip gently and sighed.

"Well, Christine, do you think highly of _him_?" Raoul asked in an excited voice.

"No, dear... Why would I? He threatened to kill you! My precious Raoul!" I smiled and began brushing little pieces of lint off of his knee.

"Last night, Christine, when the chandelier fell on him, what were your thoughts?" Raoul blurted out.

I stopped brushing and held his hand and played with his fingers, touching our matching wedding bands.

"I thought of relief. He wasn't stalking me anymore. I don't feel eyes watching me anymore, Raoul." I said every so softly.

Raoul nodded and caressed my cheek. He kissed my neck and brushed my shoulder. A tingle on sensation went down my spine as he laid me down on the bed. A sudden scream stopped us as I was about to unbutton his coat. I sighed and pushed him off gently.

"I'll get her..." I said walking out of the room and into the hallway.

The minute I stepped into that dark hallway, _chills crept up my spine_. I instantly took back what I said earlier. I felt eyes watching me with every step I took. My slow walk, turned into a trot, then turning into a run as I raced down the hallway, holding my dress up. As the screams got louder, my nervousness went down. I burst into a bright green room and turned on the gas lamp. Rushing over to the crib, I leaned down and picked up my child. Her curls, which were darker than mine and almost black, went wild as I bounced her up and down. She quieted down and smiled. I smiled back. As I set her back down in her crib, I prepared her a bottle of warm milk, a treat. She drank furiously. I sat down in a rocking chair made out of expensive wood, smiling at the room which Raoul had taken great consideration in making. The walls were bright green, a Persian carpet was spread across the floor, and trunks full of toys lined the wall. A changing table was in the corner. I sighed contently when I heard an all to familiar voice.


End file.
